To Rule in Amber tdoa-3 Read online

  “Good.” I knew I could count on him. “Then you'll definitely be staying here until you hear from us?”

  He pulled a sour face. “If I have to. Any other Shadow would be a improvement over this dump, though. It doesn't even have a decent bath…”

  I chuckled. “I don't care if you stay or not. Just make sure we can reach you at a moment's notice wherever you are, okay?”

  He brightened. “Sure!”

  Blaise appeared in the doorway. She had taken the time to wash her face, fix her hair, and change clothes. Now she wore a wine-colored blouse, leather britches, and riding boots—and she carried a bare blade: a nasty-looking shortsword with a serrated blade and a wickedly barbed point.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Why the sword?” It definitely wasn't the weapon you expected to find in the hands of a beautiful woman.

  “Someone has to watch your back,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “If you and Dad are going after Freda, you'll need help. There don't seem to be any other men around”—she shot Aber a pointed look—“so I have to pitch in.”

  Aber said, “I'll leave the manliness up to you. You have a bigger pricker than I do, anyway.” He seemed to find that amusing and snickered a bit.

  “Do you know how to use that thing?” I asked Blaise.

  “Try me and see.”

  I chuckled. “Aber's right, you know.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You aren't our sister. The real Blaise belongs in the afraid-of-breaking-fingernails camp.”

  “There's no reason a woman can't look good and defend herself.”

  I just shook my head. We definitely had interesting characters in our family. Every time I thought I had my siblings figured out, new twists in their personalities appeared. Blaise as protective warrior-beauty queen… definitely not the image I'd had of her.

  Completely businesslike now, she joined our father at the bed. He had been studiously ignoring us. Dad had pulled a small pouch from some inner pocket and had emptied its contents onto the quilt—rings, bits of colored glass and stone, a few fingerbones, a large agate marble. He picked through everything and selected what looked like a small piece of charcoal.

  “Do-it-yourself Trumps?” I guessed. That seemed the likeliest way into Thellops's lair.

  Without a word, Dad hurried to the wall beside the door. Smooth and freshly whitewashed, it offered a clean surface ideal for drawing.

  He sketched a rectangle the size of a door. Then, with a few simple lines, he added a rough representation of a workroom: a long wooden table cluttered with bottles, jars, and tubes filled with bubbling liquids; tall bookcases; and a jumble of books and papers. More than anything, it reminded me of Dad's workroom in Juniper. It just needed a few mummified cats and a selection of bizarre and complex machines to be complete.

  Aber cocked his head and studied the wall critically. “That one can't possibly work,” he said. “There's no representation of the Logrus underlying it.”

  “An ignorant comment based on foolish assumptions,” Dad muttered impatiently. He added a horned skull atop one bookcase and a glowing ball of light in one corner, then smiled half to himself.

  “What do you mean?” Aber demanded.

  “You are an idiot, my boy. The Logrus is immaterial.”

  “So you're using the Pattern?”

  “Of course. Not that it matters. Neither one needs to be incorporated into the drawing.”

  “But it's the same idea. You need a magic underpinning to the image—” he began.

  “Try telling the Logrus that. Or the Pattern. Both exist with no underpinnings whatsoever. They merely are.”

  Dad returned to the bed and began gathering up his rocks, bones, and bits of glass, all of which he put back into his pouch. He dropped the charcoal in on top.

  “That's crazy.” Aber shook his head.

  Dad looked at Blaise and me. “Prepare yourselves.”

  I drew my sword and went to stand beside him. As we all faced the picture on the wall, I half wondered if Aber might be right. Dad's drawing ranked among the worst Trumps imaginable. Sketchy black lines, faintly drawn from memory… how could it possible work?

  But then, as I studied the image, I sensed an almost tangible power radiating from it. As Dad stepped forward and concentrated, the picture suddenly colored with browns and grays and ruddy oranges, coming to life. Instead of a black-and-white line drawing, we suddenly gazed through a shimmering doorway into Thellops's workshop.

  Without hesitation, Dad stepped through into that room. He looked around quickly.

  “Empty,” he announced. His voice sounded distant.

  “Impossible!” Aber muttered, staring.

  “Not at all.” I glanced at my brother. “You need to pay attention to what Dad's doing.” Some time ago, our father had mentioned offhandedly that Aber had no idea how Trumps really worked. I hadn't repeated that comment, since I'd known it would hurt Aber. But clearly my brother needed to adjust his methods of Trump-making if he intended to keep up.

  “But—” Aber began, looking with bewilderment from the drawing to me and back again. “How—”

  “I'll explain later. Right now, I want you to find some white-wash and cover up the Trump on the wall. Summon it using the Logrus if you have to. I don't care—just get it. I don't want anyone following us through the picture on the wall.”

  “Come quickly!” Dad called, voice flat and far away. He held out his right hand to Blaise. She took it and he helped her step through.

  “What if you need rescuing?” Aber asked. “I can't help if I can't get there.”

  I said, “We won't. If we fail, we'll be dead.”

  He sighed. “Okay. I'll do it as soon as you're gone. Anything else?”

  “I can't think of anything.”

  Dad called, “Hurry up, my boy!” The doorway to the workshop suddenly rippled like a lake touched by morning breezes.

  I hefted my sword. Hopefully Dad's plan would work.

  In fast. Rescue Freda. Run away.

  Simple, at least in theory.

  Lowering my head, I walked through the drawing on the wall. Aber vanished behind me. Down and up flip-flopped several times. Strange colors and smells hit my senses in pulsating waves—reds that smelled of cheese, yellows that stank of wet skunk, browns and grays like rotting horseflesh. Gagging, I tried not to retch.

  Voices reached me, but oddly garbled. Suddenly Dad's face pressed close to mine. I looked up into his brown eyes and gasped. His pupils flickered with reds and yellows, as though fires burned behind his face. His skin might have been the paper of some paper lantern.

  He said something, but I couldn't quite make out the words. He might just as well have been speaking some barbarian tongue. Since he seemed to expect an answer, I gave a curt nod and forced myself upright. I couldn't hold up Freda's rescue.

  That seemed to satisfy him. Turning, he headed for the door.

  Taking a shuddering breath, I glanced around the room. Light came from a dim ball hovering in the corner, just below the ceiling. Much like Dad's workshop in Juniper, this appeared to be a private retreat for study and magical research. If we'd had more time, I would have liked to go through it carefully. There was no telling what useful notes or devices we might find in here.

  Suddenly the room tilted to the left. I staggered into the table and caught myself against it. Everything swam drunkenly, and gravity flip-flopped several times.

  Blaise gripped my shoulder. Gulping frantically, I looked into her face.

  I couldn't make out the words, but I read her lips: “Are you all right?”

  “Dizzy…” I muttered.

  Something in my ears made a little popping sound, and the next time she spoke, I actually heard words:

  “Want me to slap you?”

  “Hah!” I said. Maybe my “Chaos legs,” as Aber had called them, were returning. “Just try it.”

  “If you think it will help…”

  I relea
sed the table. “Only if I get to break your arm!”

  “He's all right,” she said to Dad.

  “Are you sure?” Dad asked, hesitating. “He looks sick.”

  “I'm fine,” I growled. I had no intention of sitting out Freda's rescue.

  “Don't worry,” Blaise said, patting my cheek. “If you can't keep up, I'll carry you.” She glanced at our father. “Can you locate Freda? I sense her presence, but not clearly. Is she close?”

  “Yes,” Dad said. “This way, I think.” Pushing open the door, he hurried out into a hallway.

  Blaise motioned me forward, so I went next. She brought up the rear.

  Dimly glowing balls of light hovered overhead at regular internals. Light puddled on the ceiling above them, casting a dim yellow glow across the stone floors and wood-paneled walls.

  Dad headed right, and I followed two paces behind. He seemed to have a clear idea where he was going. We passed doors with faces, each exactly the same as the last. They had all been carved from slabs of ebon-colored wood, with an identical face in each one's exact center: horned forehead, deep-set eyes, broad nose and cheekbones, cleft chin. Each face had its eyes closed, as though sleeping.

  If these doors acted anything like the ones in Dad's house in the Beyond, they might wake up at any moment, spot us, and raise an alarm. I made certain not to touch any of them.

  I was about to suggest we return to Thellops's workshop and search for keys to the doors when the floor began trying to slide out from under my feet. Stumbling, I had to lean against the wall every few paces to keep my balance.

  Blaise caught up and grabbed my arm to steady me. “Do you need to go back?” she asked in a hushed voice, her tone no longer kidding.

  “I'll make it,” I said.

  She hesitated. “If it comes to fighting,” she said, “stay behind me. I'll protect you as much as I can.”

  “Thanks, but I fight my own battles!”

  “A lot of good it does us if you end up dead!”

  I shook my head stubbornly. “Then we'll just have to be careful. I'm not hiding behind you, Blaise. Don't ask me to.”

  She frowned, but didn't press the point. Which was fine with me, since I had no intention of giving in. Besides, I had a feeling I'd be back to normal soon… my Chaos-legs were definitely returning.

  Dad navigated a twisting course through hallway after hallway. The passages seemed to curve back on themselves like serpents devouring their own tails. Hadn't we come in a full circle? Were we back where we had started? I couldn't tell. Still we passed door after identical door—the count must have run into the dozens by now. Several times I had the impression of descending on a slight incline, though the floor always appeared level. More tricks of Chaos…

  Dad stopped in front of a door like so many others we had passed. It had no markings or numbers to identify it.

  “Prepare yourselves,” he said. “This is the one.”

  “I'm ready.” Swallowing hard, I tightened my grip on my sword. Nothing to do now but storm in, letting heads fall where they may.

  “Wait, Dad,” Blaise said. “Are you sure?”

  “I know Freda's voice,” he said, eyes distant. “She is calling from inside. I am certain of it.”

  “I don't hear anything,” I said.

  Dad made a dismissive gesture. “You are deaf to the Logrus, my boy. Her spirit is crying out in agony. You are not attuned to it, so you cannot hear it. Blaise and I can.”

  I glanced at Blaise, who nodded. “Yes. I hear her, too.” Then, to our father, she added: “I know Freda is in pain. I feel it. But I'm not certain she's inside this room.”

  “I am.”

  “If you make a mistake…”

  He nodded. “I know. But the only way to find out—is so!”

  Before Blaise or I could stop him, Dad rapped sharply on the carved wooden face on the door, right in the center of its forehead.

  The face twitched. Its eyelids flew open, and it glared at us with blood-red eyes.

  “How dare you touch me!” it snarled.

  I gulped. If this guardian was anything like the doors in Dad's home in the Beyond, it would take the magical equivalent of a battering ram to get through now that Dad had pissed it off.

  “I am your master,” Dad said.

  It blinked. “You are not Lord Thellops!”

  “No,” Dad agreed.

  “Who are you,” it said in haughty tones, “and what do you want? Speak fast, or I shall summon guards and have you executed for this outrage!”

  Dad said, “You know who I am.”

  “You…” The face stared blankly at him. “Are you the one? The maker?”

  “Your name!” Dad commanded. “Obey me!”

  “I am Oberon,” said the face.

  I gaped. “Did you say Oberon?” Maybe I hadn't heard correctly. Chaos might still be playing tricks on my senses.

  “Yes,” said the door, looking at me, “I did say Oberon. What of it?”

  “Uh… I wasn't sure I heard you correctly.” I shot a puzzled glance at Dad. “That's my name, too. Funny coincidence.”

  “You are Oberon?” Dad said to the door, ignoring me. “Yes, I thought so. Do you remember me?”

  “I think… I think I know you,” it said, staring at his face.

  I stared at Dad unbelievingly. How was he doing it? Hypnotism?

  Calmly, Dad nodded. “I am Lord Dworkin. I made you for Thellops many years ago. I carved you with these two hands. I painted the light into your eyes and into your heart. Do you remember me now?”

  “Yes… Lord… Dworkin… yes. You are the one. I will obey… master.”

  Ah, so Dad had made Thellops's doors! Sometimes it paid to be an inventor. His confidence about getting through to Freda suddenly made sense.

  Now, though, I had a question or two of my own. Had he named me after a door, or named the door after me? After we rescued Freda, I intended to find out.

  Dad smiled kindly, like a proud father at his son. “I have returned, as promised. Now open for me.”

  The face blinked several times. “None may enter, by Lord Thellops's command.”

  “I may enter,” Dad said firmly. “I made you. Your first instructions came from me. Recall them.”

  “You… you may pass through me at any time, day or night, without question. I must obey you in all things.”

  Dad leaned forward. “What else?”

  “Now and forever… you are my one true master.”

  “Good. Now, let us pass.”

  “Yes… master.”

  The lock clicked several times. The door swung open.

  Dad drew himself up, sword ready. I looked at him with new respect. He must have made these doors for Thellops many years ago… and made sure they would always open for him. The crafty devil. Had he planned a career as a burglar?

  “Faster!” Dad commanded. “Be quick and be silent!”

  The door swung completely open, revealing darkness. From inside came a strange snuffling, snorting sound, almost like a pig rooting for food in its trough. A monster? A guard of some kind? I raised my sword, prepared to defend myself, but nothing charged from the darkness. What was it waiting for?

  Without hesitation, Dad strode forward. He disappeared into the room.

  The snuffling noise grew louder.

  “Come on!” I said to Blaise. Then I charged after him.

  Chapter 12

  I found myself in warm, humid darkness, unable to see anything. From somewhere ahead, I heard a faint tap-heart pounded. My every nerve jangled in alarm. I did not like feeling blind and helpless.

  “Dad!” I called. “Can you see anything?”

  “Light!” Dad commanded.

  Brilliant white flared all around us. We were not in a room any more—and yet neither were we outside. A strange foglike grayness surrounded us. I could see Dad and Blaise, but nothing else. It reminded me of the fog through which I had fallen after Dad created the new Pattern. Could they be related
, somehow?

  The snuffling grew louder, but I saw nothing that could have made such a sound. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw the door we had just entered. It made a hole in the grayness. Slowly, as I watched, it began to shut.

  I leaped to hold it open—how else could we get out once we rescued Freda?—but didn't reach it in time. As the latch clicked, the inside of the door faded, leaving nothing but grayness where it had been.

  Great. Now we were trapped in here.

  Or were we?

  Closing my eyes, I felt for the door. I already knew I couldn't trust my senses in the Courts of Chaos. Perhaps this gray fog was nothing but an illusion designed to befuddle our eyes.

  My fingers encountered nothing but air. I walked right through the place the door had been. We were trapped here.

  “Oberon!” Dad said.

  “Me or the door?” I asked.

  “Pay attention, my boy.” His voice echoed oddly. “Stop fooling around and get over here.”

  I turned back to him. He walked swiftly to the right, with Blaise at his side. I jogged to catch up.

  The snuffling grew louder.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Inside.”

  “Inside what?”

  “Freda.”

  I stopped short. “What?”

  “He is using her. I can feel it clearly now. He is searching the Shadows for us.”

  “How?” I demanded. “Like Lord Zon did?”

  Zon had drawn my brothers' blood from their bodies with magic, then used their blood to scry on the rest of us. One by one he had murdered my brothers and sisters.

  “Zon is an amateur compared to Thellops.”

  Still we walked for what seemed miles, though in the grayness I had no way of telling. Finally Dad halted. Slowly he inched to the left. Then he inched back to the right. Then he took a few steps forward, stopped, and went back.

  Listening to the snuffling sounds, I tried to figure out what he was doing. Suddenly I realized we had reached a central place in the grayness, where the snuffling noises could be heard the loudest. Every time we moved away from this spot, the cries lessened.

  Nodding to himself, Dad turned to me. “Give me a Trump. Quickly!”